


A Man of Substances

by skarlatha



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: For Science!, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 14:14:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skarlatha/pseuds/skarlatha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Firing a gun at the walls isn't the only thing Sherlock does when he's bored. Sometimes he does science. Sometimes that science involves stealing John's underoos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Man of Substances

John very rarely takes baths, preferring the efficiency of a shower, but the morning after a particularly strenuous chase through the back streets of Islington, his muscles ache so badly that nothing but a long soak in hot water will do to relax him. He sets up some music to play while he marinates and ends up falling asleep in the bathtub. It is for that reason that when John finally dries himself off and ties the bath towel around his waist, he has been in the bathroom for a little over two full hours.

Two full hours, it seems, is more than enough for Sherlock to get very bored indeed.

John leaves the bathroom and goes to his bedroom without looking for Sherlock. He roots around in his dresser for some pants and finds none.

This is odd. John is certain that he washed several pairs of pants in his last load of laundry. And besides that, he always has an emergency pair tucked away in his sock drawer for days when he accidentally runs out of clean pants. The emergency pair is missing, too.

John pulls his bathrobe off of its hook and switches the towel for the bathrobe. He puts on his slippers and heads back downstairs.

“Sherlock,” he calls while he walks. “Do you know what happened to my pants?”

“Yes,” Sherlock says from the kitchen, sounding bored as usual. “They’re in here.”

John stops in his tracks and looks up to the ceiling as if he’s praying for divine guidance, then sighs and walks into the kitchen. “Sherlock, why...” He breaks off, staring.

Sherlock has hung a string across the kitchen, and every single pair of John’s pants is attached to the string with a clothespin. There are large stains on the crotch of each pair, each with a label pinned to them with a different substance written in Sherlock’s distinctive handwriting.

John reads a few of them. Blood, obviously. Saline. Red wine. Three different types of tea. Lemon juice. Ammonia. Water from the Thames. Chicken broth. Tomato soup. Mascara. He looks at Sherlock with his best bitchface.

“Sherlock, what the hell have you done to my pants?”

“I should think that would be obvious,” Sherlock says, pinning another pair up to the line. This one is labeled ‘goat’s milk.’ “I needed to perform an experiment on cloth.”

“And why did you choose _my pants_ to experiment on?”

“John, your mind is delightful for these kinds of things,” Sherlock explains, almost patiently (for Sherlock). “I needed a uniform sample of clothing, and since you insist on always buying precisely the same brand and style of pants, they are perfectly suited for this experiment. I couldn’t very well use the towels since they are of different types, and nothing in my closet is as... similar. As your pants.” He smiles his trademark Sherlock smirk at John.

“They’re ruined,” John says, his voice weak with disbelief. “You’ve ruined every pair of my pants.”

“Nonsense,” Sherlock says. “They will wash. The blood might be a loss, though, and the wine and tea. But the lemon juice and the saline and the semen will wash right out.”

John sputters. “ _Semen_.”

“Yes,” Sherlock says, then flips his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry, John, it’s not my semen. I procured it from one of the men in my homeless network.”

“You... procured it.” John thinks about it for a moment and can’t decide if this is better or worse than the idea of Sherlock ‘procuring’ a sample from himself. “How?” he asks, then realizes that he doesn’t want to know. “Never mind. Are there any that you haven’t used yet?”

“No, that was the last.” Sherlock tones down the smirk to more of a genuine smile (again, for Sherlock). “Don’t worry, John. I only need to observe how the stains set for another eight hours and thirty-seven minutes. Then you may have them back.”

“You want me to go without my pants for _eight hours_.”

“Yes,” Sherlock says, sounding as if this is a very logical conversation. “And thirty-seven...” He checks his watch. “Thirty- _six_ minutes.”

“Fine,” John says, rubbing his eyes. “Alright. Which of these pairs is the least important to your experiment?”

“The chicken broth, I suppose,” Sherlock says. “Although it’s all important, obviously.”

John snatches down the chicken broth pair and shakes them at Sherlock. “You owe me a new package of pants.” He storms off to the bathroom to rinse out the broth, wondering to himself why he even puts up with Sherlock.


End file.
